Return
by True Courage
Summary: He would know if John was dead. He was alive. Someone had taken his John. Someone was going to pay. Sequel to Freak.
1. Chapter 1

**I decided that decided it's mad at me for not posting for so long and is taking it's vengeance by screwing up the format of everything I post. I am not amused. Fixed.**

**xxx**

Being away from John was harder than Sherlock could have ever guessed. He didn't know how he had managed to survive without his John. He often found himself laying back and just remembering, wishing he could at least see him. But he fought it. He knew that if he allowed Mycroft to bring him even a photo of his mate, let alone of their child, he would abandoned everything and his time away would be for not. He didn't even let his brother tell him when is child had been born. He had expected to be gone for a year, two at most.

Their child had to at least be four by now.

_'All you have to do is call Mycroft,' _his spirit animal said. '_You can be home by tomorrow.'_

Sherlock looked over at the dragon who appeared to take up the entire room, the ends of his wings disappearing into the walls.

_'You think I don't know that?' _Sherlock grumbled. _'I'm almost done. Once Moran is captured, I can go home.'_

The dragon huffed and rested his head on his front claws. Sherlock rolled over on the caught. He really didn't want to sleep, he wanted to be out searching for Moriarty's right hand, but he had gone too long without and it was beginning to effect his ability to think. He hated sleeping, especially now. Now, when he closed his eyes, all he could see was John. Was he happy? Did he miss him? What was their child like? Was it a boy or a girl? Did the child look like him? As smart as him? Or was the child more like John? He hoped the child was like John. Like John, but with his intelligence. The perfect child.

The last three months had been particularly hard on Sherlock. Finding Moran turned out to be harder than he had anticipated. The man wasn't as smart as he and Moriarty, but he had what little was left of Moriarty's empire at his command and years of experience. Sherlock had spent the last year just chasing him across Asia, and had yet to lay eyes on the man. His military record had the picture erased (Moriarty's doing, of course.)

Finally, Sherlock managed to catch up to him. They were in Siberia, where Moriarty used to have a underground lab. Sherlock had put it out of commission early on, but apparently they had missed a secret room (how had Sherlock missed that?) and Moran wanted whatever was in it. Sherlock never did find out what was in there. Moran got there and got what he wanted and was half way out the door when Sherlock got there.

For a second, it felt like the pool all over again. Moran looked just like his John. He could have been John's twin. Of course, it only took Sherlock a second to realize it was definitely not his John. There were differences, they were slight, but they were there. Small differences in proportions and dimensions, no more than a couple millimeters (Sherlock and Mycroft would probably be the only tow who could tell). What confirmed it for Sherlock were his eyes. They were too hard and cold to be his John's.

Sherlock only hesitated for a moment, but it was long enough. Moran took him out and was gone. Sherlock chased after him the moment he got back to his feet, but Moran was quick and knew the base like the back of his hand. Sherlock didn't have a chance.

Sherlock was more bothered by Moran than he should have been. Or maybe he was right to be as disturbed as he was. They could have been brothers. The similarity was so close, anyone else would think it was him. It sent chills down his spine. In all those years away, he hadn't wanted to be home and holding John in his arms more than then. He came closest to crying then.

It was another month before he found Moran again. They were running through the streets of Hong Kong. Sherlock, who had memorized as many maps as he could, found a shortcut through the alleys and cut him off. He tackled the man to the ground, pinning him to the ground. His scent hit him like a bulldozer. It was one that was all too familiar.

It was just like John's.

It was different in that it definitely belonged to another person, but he definitely smelled the scents from three different secondary genders. He grinned up at Sherlock, obviously knowing what Sherlock was thinking.

"Your little play thing isn't the only one who's special," Moran growled, and Sherlock was relieved to find that Moran at least didn't have his John's voice.

Moran's smile faded at he focused in on Sherlock with an intensity that almost made Sherlock flinch. Sherlock screamed as a piercing pain seared through his head. Sherlock barely registered Moran throwing him off. The moment Moran was on his feet, the pain faded, but Sherlock was too out of it to give chase.

_Moran was a guide._

It took him almost three hours to get back to the hole in the wall he had been staying at. He collapsed on the bed and was out almost immediately, his mind and body irritatingly exhausted. He woke late in the night, jumping awake as though he were expecting to be attacked. He was filled with a sense of dread that nearly overwhelming. He looked around, trying to find anything that could be a possible danger, but all he could see was his spirit animal, his pale eyes wide with alarm.

_'Call Mycroft,' _the dragon said urgently.

'But-'

'Call Mycroft. You must go home. Now.'

Sherlock looked out the window, considering. He cursed under his breath and went to his bag. It was a small bag with the few items he brought with him. He rooted through it's contents: a gin, ammo, a few articles of clothing, a picture of him and John... there. He pulled out the phone, meant only for contacting Mycroft. Before he could even flip it open, it began to ring. Sherlock's heart bega nto pound in his chest as he opened it and put it to his ear.

"What's happened?" Sherlock demanded.

"Sherlock-" Mycroft began.

"What's going on?"

"John's missing."

Sherlock didn't hear the rest of what Mycroft said. His hand went limp at his side as the phone slipped from his hand. The sound of it hitting the ground was like a bullet in the silence of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**So, anyone previously confused by this chapter, it was missing most of the body because hates me. It's fixed now. I'm going to go cry in a corner.**

**xxx**

John wasn't entirely sure what he had expected Sherlock's parents to be like. Well, yes he did. He figured they'd be like sons. Probably more like Mycroft. He figured they would be very proper and traditional.

He was right about them being traditional.

Not in the way he was expecting. They were a very traditional, happy older couple in the sense they were like any couple you could find on the street. They sat on the couch in Baker Street as John handed them their tea. John was only just beginning to show. Sherlock sat in Sherlock's chair (he did that a lot nowadays) and nervously played with his cup.

"I am so happy to meet you, I have to say we were surprised to hear that Sherlock-"

"-had bonded," the couple finished in unison.

"We would never have even known that Sherlock had a flatmate, let alone an actual _mate _if not for-"

"-for Mikey."

John couldn't help but smile as Mycroft rolled his eyes. The elder brother was sitting in John's chair, his umbrella leaning against the arm of the chair.

"I have to say, you are quite the handsome man, scentless or not!" Mrs. Holmes said. "Not as handsome as my Sherlock, of course, but than again, I'm biased."

"I understand. I imagine I'll be the same with mine," John said.

"Do you know what you are going to name him?" Mrs. Holmes asked eagerly.

"Ah, we don't know the gender yet, but I imagine it will be something rather boring, at least compared to Mycroft and Sherlock."

"Well, I'd be more than happy to lend you a hand! How about we pick one boy name and one girl?"

"Well, there is something else..."

xxx

Sherlock stood outside his parents house, his hands clenched at his sides. Never in his entire life would he have been so nervous about knocking on his parents. Normally, he would never have even bothered. He would have just let himself in (they always kept a spare in the same spot). But this was different. Behind this door was the most... he wasn't even sure what words to use! What would John say? He'd laugh most likely. The Great Sherlock Holmes, stumbling for words. Taking a breath, he reached up and knocked lightly.

The door swung open almost immediately. Sherlock stared into the empty space before him. Who opened the door? He blinked, than looked down. He was met with wide, gray under a mop of curly blonde hair. The boy couldn't have been older than four years...

Sherlock's mind supplied the rest.

"H-hi," Sherlock said, not even caring that he stuttered.

"Hi," the boy reliped.

"I-uh-"

"Are you my father?" the boy asked so softly Sherlock barely hared him.

"Yes," Sherlock whispered. "Yes, I believe I am."

"HOPE! I TOLD YOU NOT TO JUST OPEN THE DOOR! IT COULD BE THE ALIENS COMING FOR-"

The boy fell forward as another body ran straight into his back. Sherlock reached forward to catch both of them, steadying them. He was met with yet another set of eyes, this time belonging to a girl, her curls tied up into twin ponytails.

What?

"Hope! Joy! What are you two up to now?" Sherlock heard his mother call as she approached. Her eyes landed on her son, and she broke out into a wide smile.

"Sherlock! You're home!" the woman ran as fast as she could to the door.

"I guess he's not an alien, then," the girl said, sounding disappointed.

"There are no such things as aliens, Joy," his mother said.

"Prove it."

Sherlock looked between the two children and his mother, not quite computing what he was seeing. The boy was still transfixed on him, not having released his pant leg after Sherlock had caught him.

"Hope. Joy," his mother looked up at him proudly. "This is your father."

The girl looked back at him, her face seemingly passive beyond a mild curiosity betrayed by the tilt of her head. The boy looked up at him expectantly and Sherlock was at a loss as to what to do. _What would John do? _Sherlock knelt down the children's level, their eyes never leaving his.

"Hope and Joy? Sounds like names John would chose."

Great going, Holmes.

But it seemed to be enough. Sherlock barely had time to brace himself before Hope through himself at him, wrapping his small arms around Sherlock's neck. Joy, on the other hand, just smirked softly and rolled her eyes.

"I assume Daddy's lack of originality is genetic, judging by his own name," Joy said, sounding exasperated. "Grandmother had an entire list of very unique and quite lovely names but no. He had to pick two of the most uninspired names in the world. At least he had meaning in mind when he chose our names. I am sure that there are plenty of more interesting name with the same meaning."

Joy continued to ramble on and Sherlock couldn't help but smile softly, recognizing the same avoidance technique he had perfected as a child.

"Sherlock."

Sherlock glared up at his brother as he walked up behind their mother. Sherlock glared up at him, attempting to stand. Hope refused to let go, instead tightening his hold on his neck. Sherlock chose to pick the boy up, balancing him against his side. Joy was still rambling when he took two threatening steps towards his brother, to which Mycroft merely raised an amused eyebrow.

"You were supposed to watch _him," _Sherlock hissed.

"I did what I could. Unfortunately, John learned how to avoid the cameras when he wished to do so. Learned from watching you, I might add," Mycroft said calmly. "I have brought over what footage we have from the day he went missing. You may go over it as much as you wish, though I don't think you'll learn much more from them than I have."

"Do you believe in aliens?" Joy suddenly blurted out. Startled, Sherlock looked down at her with wide eyes.

"I SAID, do you believe in aliens?"

"I believe that until definitive proof is presented to the contrary, one should not dismiss the possibility," Sherlock answered.

Joy smiled brightly.

"Come on, Hope! We gotta finish the survival kit on the off chance that any aliens that arrive are here to kill us all. I highly doubt it though, but there is no way to be certain- HOPE!"

Hope shook his head and buried his face in Sherlock's neck.

"Joy, let your brother be," his mother scolded.

"But grandma-"

"Unfortunately, your brother is not as emotionally detached as you are. Let him be," Mrs. Holmes said.

"Ugh. Sentiment," Joy groaned. Sherlock smiled. Joy noticed and blinked. She blushed and bit her lip before turning on her heels and running upstairs.

"Try not to be upset. She reminds me so much of you at that age."

Sherlock didn't respond. It was like watching a younger, female version of himself.

"I have the video already set up, when you're ready..." Mycroft motioned towards the television in the living room.

Xxx

Honestly, Sherlock wasn't sure what to do about the young boy. He had refused to release Sherlock from his neck hold as he reviewed the footage and had fallen asleep on his lap. Joy at some point had come downstairs and settled herself on the other side of the couch; her laptop seemed like a monstrosity in her lap. Sherlock had stopped to look at the girl as she typed away (she had noticed judging by the blush she sported as she ignored him) and found she looked more like John than the boy did, who really looked more like a blonde version of himself. The thought had reminded him of his missing mate and Sherlock returned to the footage. He had gone over it time and again and still found nothing. John had slipped into a blind spot, one of Sherlock's favorites, and never reappeared. Sherlock closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down. He would know if John was dead. He was alive. Someone had taken his John.

Someone was going to pay.


	3. Chapter 3

John was sixteen weeks pregnant when he met her. Mary Mortsan was a new nurse at his clinic, a pretty woman John would have wanted to pursue a year ago. She came in and introduced herself, smiling at him as though she were meeting an old friend instead of a doctor at her new job. John had been sitting at the desk, filling out the reports when she came in. When he stood, Mary finally saw his swollen middle and the smile fell from her face.

"Y-you're pregnant?" she asked.

"Yes," John said carefully, disconcerted by her reaction. She sounded like someone who just found out that someone she loved was with someone else. John was instantly on guard. Mary shook her head softly and smiled.

"I'm sorry. How far along are you?" Mary asked, sounding perfectly normal again.

"About four months," John said.

"You seem pretty big for four months," Mary commented.

"Twins," John said. "Boy and a girl."

"Congratulations!" Mary beamed. "I know this must be weird coming from a complete stranger, but if you need anything, don't hesitate to call me."

She was so sincere, John couldn't help but smile in return.

Xxx

No one would have guessed that Sherlock found interacting with his daughter was easier than his son. Joy never hugged him, rarely even touched him. When they did talk, it was usually about aliens and whatever else had caught the girl's attention. Sherlock knew what to do about that. The way she talked to him was just like the way he talked John. He counted it a personal victory when she started trying to get Sherlock to do things for her. (I can't reach my laptop! Yes, I know it's just on the table, but I'm a child and my arms don't reach that far!) Sherlock had expected it to take a lot longer for either child to warm up to him. Joy was still suspicious of him, based on the looks she gave him when he moved suddenly. It was expected, but it was a lot better than expected.

Hope, well, he wasn't entirely sure what to do with Hope. Hope clung to him like he was afraid Sherlock was going to disappear into thin air. Sherlock assumed it had to do with John's recent disappearance. The boy didn't speak much, and when he did, it was barely more than a whisper. When he wasn't clinging to Sherlock, he was clinging onto his sister. Joy seemed accustomed to her brother's behavior and would continue on like he wasn't even there, except when she redirected her rambling to him. Fortunately, he seemed content enough to just hold onto Sherlock. Sherlock assumed that was a good thing.

"I want to call somebody," Joy said.

"Who?" Sherlock asked.

"Aunt Mary."

"You don't have an Aunt Mary. John had only one sister," Sherlock said.

"I know she's not our actual aunt. She's a nurse who worked with daddy. She helped daddy near the end of his pr-pregnan- pregnancy- don't look at me like that!"

"It is fascinating how someone with your vocabulary can have difficulty with the word 'pregnancy'."

"Shut up," the girl whined. "Anyway. She liked to help daddy whenever she could. Which was a lot. I liked her. I haven't heard from her since daddy disappeared."

Sherlock looked away from the surveillance videos (Really, Sherlock. It's been three days since you started watching those. If you haven't seen anything by now, you're not going to). Someone new. A nurse at work. Attraction? Impossible. Unless she were a sentinel. Unlikely, but not impossible. Hasn't been heard from since John's disappearance. Connection: probable. Worth investigating.

"I will see if I can contact her," Sherlock said, standing. Hope whined in protest and stumbled off the couch to cling to his father's pant leg.

"I will not say that she had nothing to do with it, there may be a chance she is, but she is not responsible," Joy said.

"I will not rule out any possibility until I have met this woman in person. Surname?"

"Morgan," Joy said, than made a confused face. "Morlan? Mor... Mor..."

"Mortsan!" Hope piped up triumphantly.

"Thank you." Hope looked disgustingly happy.


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm sorry I haven't posted in a couple weeks. Been really busy with work and other stuffs. **

**xxx**

If there were any blessings during those nine months, it was Mary Mortsan. It had started slowly through work. Something about her had felt... off. Not in the 'I think you might be an evil serial killer' off, more like 'I think you are more than you say you are' off. John was certain that she was a good person, though. He didn't know why. When they talked, it was as though they had been friends forever. As his pregnancy progressed, she insisted on helping more and more. It was help John greatly appreciated as he entered the last month of his pregnancy. It was like she instinctively knew what John needed or liked. Honestly, John would probably have fallen for her before he met Sherlock.  
Not even Mary compared to Sherlock.  
Xxx  
Mary Mortsan was interesting.  
She was a nurse at John's clinic. Her secondary gender was unlisted. She had plenty of acquaintances who thought she was a lovely woman (not just in appearance) but she didn't really have any friends. Besides John. According to the other nurses he had talked to over the phone, they had been very close. Some even theorized that they had been dating.  
Sherlock scoffed at the idea. His John was too loyal to ever look elsewhere. Plus, unless the woman was a Sentinel, she wouldn't even be physically capable of being attracted to his John. Sherlock highly doubted she was. Of course, there was no way of being sure, seeing as how Mary Mortsan died several years ago. Whomever it was who had befriended his John, it was definitely not Mary Mortsan. Sherlock need to know more from the only other two people who would have seen the two up close, and he highly doubted they would approve of him calling on the phone.  
Xxx  
Sherlock winced at Mrs. Hudson's screams. Bit over dramatic, wasn't it? Sherlock barely had a chance to say a word when his former landlady fainted. That went well.  
Meeting with Lestrade had proven much more tolerable. After insulting his parents (why do people do that?) the man had nearly smothered him with hugs. That was still a little agitating to the detective, but at least he was able to talk to him then.  
Talking to the two of them didn't reveal anything substantial. Mary had helped as much as she could near the end of John's pregnancy and after the children were born. It seemed she interacted with John more than even Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson compared her to a sister who was intent on helping her brother after a mate had died. Sherlock found himself becoming uneasy the more he learned about this woman.  
The kids seemed to like her. Hope didn't say all that much, other than to say she made a lot of cake. Joy said she was smart, not as smart as Joy herself, of course, but more so than average. She was a lot more than she said she was, Joy was certain, but she was definitely not an alien so Joy decided it wasn't worth looking into.  
Sherlock disagreed.


	5. Chapter 5

It seemed that with every passing day, he finds something new to call the moment he missed Sherlock the most. When the twins were born. When he chose their names. When he first took them home. Their first words. Their first steps. Everyday was filled with conflicting emotions. Joy, because he loved his children, loved watching them grow. Loved loving them. Sorrow, because Sherlock should be there. He should be holding them. Some days he was angry, angry at Sherlock, angry at Moriarty, furious with Mycroft (He wasn't sure what to feel about the fact that Joy seemed to like her uncle). Honestly, he hated himself on those days. Sherlock saved them. Sherlock was saving them. If Sherlock hadn't done what he did, his loves would never have been born. Yes, John felt plenty of joy and love with his children. But he wasn't happy. He wouldn't be happy without Sherlock.

Thank god for Mary.

Mary was there for him though every step. He swears to god, if there was another room in Baker Street she would have moved in. She was good with Joy and Hope. Well, Joy more than Hope. Hope still cried when anyone but John held him, but he tolerated Mary longer than most. He would be lost without her.

Xxx

It took Sherlock nearly a week to find Mary Mortsan. A week. Sherlock had to resort to asking Mycroft for help, and it still took them four days to find her. Without even meeting her, Sherlock was certain this Mary was a very intelligent woman. For a dead woman, at least. Mary Mortsan wasn't even her real name. Who was this woman who had gotten so close to his mate, to his children? The chances that she was behind John's disappearance was growing, but something was gnawing at him. He was missing something. Hopefully meeting her will allow him to save his John. If he was still a-delete.

They tracked her down to a hotel. She had used another fake name (another dead woman). Sherlock had bypassed the front desk and went straight for her room. Second floor. Room in the center of the hall. Sherlock was in luck. He arrived just as she was walking out. Sherlock decided that she was a pretty woman (John's type, once upon a time).

"You are not responsible for John's disappearance," Sherlock said. If Mary was surprised by his presence, she didn't show it. She just looked at him with a critical eye.

"You must be Sherlock," she said.

"You have no idea where John is."

"Really? How can you tell?" Mary asked, not really surprised.

"Who are you, and what do you have to do with John?" Sherlock said.

"Seb was right, you really don't change, do you?" Mary said.

"Moran?" Sherlock started.

"Relax. We aren't exactly friendly," Mary said. She raised her hand, showing him her cast. "Got this last time we met."

"Who are-"

Sherlock blinked when he finally noticed her scent.

"Finally picked it up?" Mary asked. "I won't tell you who I am, but I will tell you what I am. You see, John and I are the same. We are of the same species."


	6. Chapter 6

John walked into the upstairs bedroom, one toddler tucked under his chin, the other holding onto his hand loosely while the other rubbed at his eye. He couldn't help but smile. Sherlock could be home any day, he knew that, and each day he grew more and more excited. He couldn't wait to introduce him to his children.

"I don wanna go bed," the two-year-old girl whined, her voice muffled in John's neck. "Gotta look for the aliens."

"Don't worry, sweetheart. You probably won't find anything tonight anyways. Aliens got to sleep to, you know."

"Ridi-redi-ridicuwous. Ridwic-!" Joy groaned on frustration. "You don know if day sleep or nwat," Joy grumbled and John placed her on her side of the bed. Hope looked up at him, his arms outstretched. John lifted him up and carried him to his side. As soon as Hope was in the bed, he curled himself around his sister, who groaned in protest, but didn't have the energy to do anything about it. They were both out before John could finish pulling the blanket up.

John couldn't help but worry about his boy. At two-years-old, Joy was already speaking in complete sentences and trying out the bigger words and obsessing over life on other planets. Hope, on the other hand, had yet to say his first word. He spent all his time clinging onto someone. Nothing else seemed to matter to him. He never played with any of his toys or payed anything any attention beyond trying to avoid it when it was in his way. What he did do was watch people. It didn't matter if it was a complete stranger or his immediate family, he watched them obsessively. Mrs. Holmes assured him he was fine. Sherlock had done the same thing. Apparently Sherlock didn't speak until he was almost five, not because he didn't know how, but because he chose not to. John hoped that was it.

When John came downstairs, Mary was gathering her things together and slipping on her coat. After these years, Mary still confused John. It was as though he'd known her for a very long time. He definitely felt a connection with her, not like the one he had with Sherlock, but it was there.

"They fall asleep okay?" she asked.

"Like a light," John sighed. "I don't think I'm going to be far behind them. Thanks for you're help today."

"I told you, there's no need for you to thank me."

John fell silent, watching her closely.

"What is it?" Mary asked.

"Why are you doing this for me?" John asked. "You've helped me almost from the day we met. Why?"

"I thought it was obvious," Mary said.

Before John could reply, Mary kissed him. John was frozen with shock. It took him a couple seconds to finally pull away, looking away frantically.

"I- I uh- God, I don't-"

"I love you, John," she whispered.

John looked at her, not sure what to say.

"You don't have to say anything tonight-"

"I'm sorry, I didn't notice, I-"

"John."

"I'm not used to... to... I'm just... me, you know. I couldn't even believe Sherlock could ever be attracted to me at all until we bonded, and even then-"

"You don't have to-"

"Mary, I-" John sighed. "I can't. Be with you. Like that. God, I'm sorry, had I known-"

"It's okay. No, not really. But, well," Mary trailed off. "I-I should go."

"I'm sorry," John whispered.

Mary didn't respond. She grabbed her bag and walked out the door.

Xxx

"The same species?" Sherlock echoed.

"That's what Moran and I call us. I guess same gender would be more accurate, but species sounds cooler," Mary shrugged. "We best be going. I can hear Moran's heartbeat getting closer."

"Moran's heartbeat. You are a Sentinel," Sherlock said. "Moran is a Guide."

"So what is John?" Mary finished. "Yes, he hasn't quite awoken yet. The two of us woke late as well, but this is a conversation for later. I'd rather not deal with my annoying rival at the moment. Besides, you are going to need me. I know how to find him."

"And you think I can't?" Sherlock asked, but his tone lacked any bite.

"Oh, I'm sure you can, but we can do it faster," Mary said.

"Very well. I don't need to tell you what will happen if you do or have done anything to bring any harm to my family," Sherlock said lightly.

"But of course. I wouldn't have it any other way."


End file.
